


Caught In Between All You Wish For and All You Need

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Get Brittany back, get Santana back. Get Santana back, get her life back. Save the cheerleader, save the world. Or something like that anyway. Too bad life doesn't always work out according in plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught In Between All You Wish For and All You Need

**Author's Note:**

> Brittany and Artie never dated. AU starting from 2x04. Mostly ignores the fact that Quinn is Quinn. Warnings for: super angsty side Brittany/Santana.

Her life is not really the way she planned it. In fact, if Quinn could have planned out her life it would be  _nothing_  like the one she’s currently leading. 

Which is why Quinn has this plan. A master-plan to get back the life that an errant ejaculation stole from her over a year ago. Well it’s more like a checklist.

It goes something like: get back on the Cheerios, take back the head cheerleader position, date the cutest guy in school, put Santana and Brittany back in their rightful place. And then maybe when that’s all said and done she can finally breathe again, stop feeling like she’s barely treading the treacherous social waters of high school. 

Thankfully, the list is actually surprisingly easy to get through. Quinn has always prided herself on her own determination and ingenuity, so coming up with leverage to get Coach Sylvester to let her back on the squad isn’t really that difficult. Santana makes getting back the head cheerleader crown easy as pie with her summer surgery, and once Sam Evans steps into the choir room soon after, Quinn is down to one task left. 

Unfortunately that last task is proving to be the hardest. 

Somewhere between getting pregnant and getting unpregnant, her hold on Santana and Brittany - once firm and unwavering - lost its strength. She hates it. 

Being a leader, the top bitch at McKinley High, is only doable with the proper people standing at her side. For as long as she has known them, those people had been Santana on her right, Brittany on her left. Then the balance of power shifted and Santana got a taste of what it was like to jockey for the top without Quinn as competition, and the whole system went straight to Hell. 

There was this small part of her that hoped Santana would be grateful that Quinn was back, ready to take the reins again. For a second she though maybe Santana would thank her and complain about the rigors of being number one in the social hierarchy, and she’d peacefully step back a pace and walk behind Quinn instead of in front of her. 

Really, she should have known better. 

When they were a team, they were ruthless. Quinn picked the victims, did the scheming, came up with about as evil of a plan as she could, and Santana was always there willing to get her hands dirty. As vicious as Quinn could be, as bitchy, as mean, Santana was with her, dishing it out just as effectively if not, at times, more so. It was an asset Quinn always took for granted as just one of the many tools in her arsenal, but now that Santana’s not on her side any longer, now that all that venom is being directed  _at_  her instead of away, Quinn’s overcome with how powerless she feels. 

Getting Santana back will be a struggle. She knows it the minute she walks out of Coach Sylvester’s office after getting back her head Cheerio position and sees Santana’s face in the hallway. She doesn’t need the stinging reminder of Santana’s palm on her cheek to realize just how much damage she’s done; Santana’s face is telling enough. 

She doesn’t know why she thought that Santana would just fall back into line easily. It was an idiotic pipe dream, but it doesn’t change that element of the plan. She  _needs_  Santana. A divided throne room does no one any favors, and their power combined will always be more potent than anything else in the school. They’re legends; their reign of terror was a thing for the ages and Quinn wants it back. 

Thankfully, despite being a supreme, untouchable bitch that hates just about everyone in the universe, Santana has one weakness aside from the crippling self esteem issues that Quinn already stomped all over. And, much to Quinn’s relief, exploiting that weakness plays into her hand anyway. 

Brittany. 

Get Brittany back, get Santana back. Get Santana back, get her life back. Save the cheerleader, save the world. 

Or something like that anyway. 

\-- 

It’s hard to get Brittany alone, but she needs to. Brittany is, and most likely always will be, just another extension of Santana’s persona. Convincing her of anything when she’s near Santana is impossible unless you can get Santana to agree to it first. Yeah. Getting Brittany alone is key. 

This proves extremely difficult because the two are attached at the hip. Even more so now than Quinn remembers. Every time she thinks Brittany is alone, getting something out of her locker or walking to class, Santana just...appears out of nowhere. Quinn would probably think it was entirely disturbing if she wasn’t so distracted by her own frustration. 

It takes her about a week of watching Brittany’s every move, cataloging the times Santana is around and the small amount of times she isn’t, for Quinn to finally get Brittany alone, but it happens purely by chance. Well, by chance and by flu season. 

In reality, it’s actually kind of sad to see Brittany drifting through school alone. It’s not that she looks lost or confused (though that can seem like Brittany’s default setting); it’s just that Brittany and Santana are kind of a package deal. It’s rare to see one without the other and when it does happen it’s usually the sign of an incoming storm of apocalyptic proportions. 

But the flu has knocked Santana on her back and taken her out of school for at least today, giving Quinn the perfect in. Between third and forth period, in the third floor girl’s bathroom that was always sort of  _their_  bathroom, Quinn corners Brittany. 

“Hello, Brittany,” Quinn greets, striding across the tiled bathroom floor to where the taller girl is leaning over a sink, peering into the mirror. 

Brittany turns and smiles brightly at the sight of Quinn. “Hey!” 

Practically bouncing, Brittany wraps her fingers around Quinn’s wrist and tugs her closer, pointing into the mirror at their reflection when Quinn’s at her side. “I look super hot today,” Brittany announces, tilting her head at the image reflected back at them. 

Quinn arches an eyebrow and follows Brittany’s finger to where her own face next to Brittany’s is looking back at her. “You do,” Quinn answers, smiling a little. There's always been something infectious about Brittany’s general enthusiasm for life. Quinn hadn’t realized how much she missed it until just right now. 

“Do you like my outfit?” 

A laugh bubbles out of Quinn because Brittany is in her Cheerios uniform just like every other day, but one thing she does remember about being friends with Brittany is that nodding and agreeing are usually the smartest routes to go when navigating confusing conversation. “It’s awesome,” Quinn says, running her eyes up and down the red and white uniform. 

“You look hot too,” Brittany says to her in a conspiratorial whisper. 

Quinn tries to laugh at the compliment because it’s just as absurd as earlier, but it’s a little harder to swallow then when it was directed at Brittany. She finds herself running a palm over the red fabric of her skirt, swallowing around her smile. 

“So what’s up?” Brittany asks, leaning back in towards the mirror and poking a finger at her cheekbone, studying it intensely. 

“What are you doing later?” Quinn asks, folding her fingers together in front of her and straightening her shoulders. Acting the part is half the battle. 

“Santana’s sick,” Brittany answers, glancing at Quinn before going back to whatever it is she’s attempting to see in her reflection. 

“Yeah, I know,” Quinn chuckles. “I’m not talking about Santana, I’m talking about you.” 

“Santana’s sick,” Brittany repeats, but before Quinn can correct her again, because sometimes Brittany needs a few reminders to stay on track, she keeps talking. “So I’m going over there to see her later. I’m going to make soup.” 

Quinn swallows and tries to readjust her game plan - there has to be a way to convince Brittany  _not_  to see Santana. The whole point of this operation is to separate Brittany from Santana. Divide and conquer. 

“Hey!” Brittany exclaims, twirling towards Quinn. “You should come too.” 

Definitely not part of the plan. And Quinn would bet serious money that the last person Santana wants to see, flat on her back with the flu, is Quinn Fabray. Talk about kicking someone when they’re down. Quinn’s a bitch, but she has a heart. 

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Quinn replies, scrambling to turn this conversation around. She needs something enticing to reel Brittany back in. Enticing. Brittany. Easy. “But I could help you make cookies if you want.” 

“Cookies,” Brittany says, awe coating her tone. “Sugar cookies?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Quinn nods, smiling. “Whatever you want.” 

“That would be great. Santana loves cookies.” 

“I remember,” Quinn replies, focusing on the floor for a minute. Some part of her, softened enough by lingering baby hormones, feels a twinge of sadness mixing with guilt and for a moment she misses her best friends in a way that makes her stomach flip over. She stamps it down. Now is no time for those kinds of feelings. She has a plan. Stick to the plan. 

Looking back up, she throws Brittany her best smile, the one that she uses to get just about anything she wants from nearly anyone. “So, you want to ride home with me? I drove today.”

“We should do it at my house though,” Brittany says cheerfully. “My mom gave me these new cookie cutters, but I’ve been too afraid to use them.” 

“Okay, sure. Meet you in the parking lot?” 

Brittany lets out this little cheer of celebration like getting to hang out with Quinn is a victory or something before bouncing up a little and wrapping her arms around Quinn’s neck and squeezing tight. “I’m so excited!” 

Quinn doesn’t have time to say anything to that before Brittany is bounding out of the bathroom and the bell for next period is resounding through the small room. Quinn stares at her reflection in the mirror for a second, taking a deep breath and nodding before striding out of the bathroom and towards her next class. 

\--

Quinn hasn’t been to Brittany’s house in months, but it’s exactly the way she remembers it. When she was a kid she used to love being here. Brittany’s dad is some kind of engineer or something and there are always weird gadgets and toys lying around the house that used to fascinate her. Plus, Brittany’s mom is like an older, more cheerful version of Brittany herself, hard as it is to imagine such a person existing. 

But, the second Quinn steps back into Brittany’s house, Mrs. Pierce is waltzing over and wrapping Quinn up in a hug. “Oh, Quinn, so good to see you again.” 

“You too, Mrs. Pierce,” Quinn replies, patting the older woman on the back as Brittany laughs a little. 

“We’re going to make cookies, Mom,” Brittany announces when Quinn’s finally let go. Long fingers wrap around her wrist again, like earlier in the bathroom, and Brittany is tugging her towards the kitchen before Mrs. Pierce can say anything else. 

Brittany pulls her to a stop in front of the long marble island in the kitchen and gets to work pulling out ingredients and utensils as Quinn is left to stand and watch, drumming her fingers absently on the cold counter top. 

She feels a little strange, like being out of place in your own house, because the moment seems like a weird memory - something so familiar once upon a time. Brittany, however, is acting like the last nine or so months never happened and it’s totally normal for Quinn Fabray to be standing in her kitchen as they get ready to make cookies for their sick friend. 

She can’t focus on all that, though, because she’s on a mission. A mission to get back in Brittany’s good graces (a feat that’s seeming easier and easier the longer she stands here) and then let nature take its course. Once Brittany’s back on Team Quinn, demanding they all hang out together again, Santana will naturally follow, completely incapable of denying Brittany anything. The plan is flawless.

Grabbing a mixing bowl and the carton of eggs Brittany pulled out, Quinn tries to make herself useful, supervising Brittany’s measurements and making sure the ingredients get mixed correctly - Brittany tends to bake experimentally, considering recipes to be an unnecessary confusion and it’s always better for everyone’s health if someone curbs that tendency. Quinn’s stomach still hasn’t recovered from the Christmas cookies of ‘08 debacle. 

They work in a comfortable silence, Brittany humming softly as she makes the dough. Once all of it is spread out on the cookie sheet and Brittany’s got her assortment of cookie cutters in front of her, production stops and Brittany just sort of stands there, staring at the different shape options in front of her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in thought. 

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asks, roaming the counter to try and find the source of Brittany’s confusion. 

“Do you think Santana would be mad if I made her heart shaped cookies?” Brittany turns to look at Quinn earnestly, fingering the heart-shaped cookie cutter in front of her. 

Quinn’s eyebrows come together. “Why would she be mad?” 

Shrugging, Brittany looks back down at the dough and again at the heart in her hand. “I dunno.” 

Brittany seems to contemplate her strange dilemma for a moment more, turning the cookie cutter over in her hand as she stares at it before she makes a decision and presses the small plastic utensil into the dough, putting her palm down on top of it and pushing down. “Oh well,” she mumbles. “She’s already mad at me anyway.” 

It’s like a red flashing alarm goes off in the corner of Quinn’s brain. Santana being mad at Brittany is really not going to be helpful in executing her master-plan. That’s okay; she can adjust. “Why is she mad at you?” 

Brittany shrugs again, pressing the cookie cutter into another section of the dough to make another cookie. “She just is,” she answers, never looking up.

Quinn grabs a cookie cutter shaped like a dinosaur and looks for a clean space to cut out her own cookie. 

“Hey,” Brittany says, glancing over and looking at Quinn questioningly. “Are you like a lizard?” 

Typical Brittany derailment. “What? No,” she drawls, trying to figure out how Brittany got from point A to point 67. 

Brittany hums in thought, staring at Quinn for a long second before changing directions again. “You know,” she starts, sagging her shoulders and actually  _looking_  at Quinn. It’s unnerving. “You’re really pretty.” 

Swallowing dryly, Quinn fights the flutter in her stomach and the way her heart leaps at the words. She knows she’s attractive in that objective kind of way. She’d be stupid to say otherwise. At one point in her life there wasn’t a guy in their school that didn’t want to be with her. She just hasn’t really believed in it for a while. It feels embarrassingly good just to hear the words drop honestly out of Brittany’s mouth. 

“Thanks,” she croaks, clearing her throat a little. “You too.” 

“Oh, I know,” Brittany replies, smirking. “You know what we should do?” 

“What?” Quinn asks, laughing at the way Brittany’s brain jumps from one thought to the next. 

Brittany eyes the ceiling for a moment in thought before snapping her head back down and looking at Quinn wide eyed. “Wait, never mind. I forgot.” 

Quinn laughs. This loud, unstoppable sound that comes out of her before she can stop it and halfway through it she feels something tight uncoil in her, breath leak heavily out of her lungs and for the first time in way too long she feels at ease. 

Brittany pokes her in the cheek, still stretched into an amused grin and laughs with her. “You’re so pretty when you laugh. You should do it all the time.” 

Shaking her head, Quinn brushes the compliment off, but keeps smiling as she turns back to their dough. “Let’s finish these.” 

\--

It’s fifteen minutes later and the dough is finally assembled into shapes on the cookie sheet as Brittany bends over to slide them in the oven and Quinn finishes cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. 

“I hope these make Santana feel better,” Brittany comments, closing the oven and stepping back. 

“They will.” 

“Yeah,” Brittany sighs, staring at the closed oven with something like longing in her expression. Quinn can’t quite make out what’s going on, but that’s definitely a familiar feeling to have around Brittany. 

Then, the expression is gone, replaced by excitement and joy as the tall blonde jumps up and down a little and moves closer to Quinn. “Let’s go hang out in my room while these grow.” 

Quinn nods and chuckles as Brittany grabs her wrist again, pulling her along with a skip towards Brittany’s room. 

If Quinn thought stepping back into Brittany’s kitchen was a strange experience, being back inside of Brittany’s room is another issue entirely. 

Brittany plops down onto her bed, cross-legged and smiles up at Quinn, patting the mattress next to her for Quinn to sit down. 

“I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever,” Brittany confesses in a soft whisper as Quinn takes a seat next to her. 

“We haven’t,” Quinn jokes, tracing the stitching in the comforter of Brittany’s bed. She tries to keep her mind on the strategy of her master-plan, but it’s hard when she’s in the bedroom of one of her closest childhood friends, trying to ignore the ache deep in her chest for the friends she used to have. Loneliness washes over her and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. 

Brittany hums, nodding while she stares at Quinn intently, the gaze making Quinn fidget uncomfortably. “What do you want to do?” She asks, wanting to get Brittany to stop staring at her. 

Laughing a little, Brittany plops backwards until she’s lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing,” Quinn deadpans, arching an eyebrow at Brittany. 

“Yeah,” Brittany replies, her expression open. “Haven’t you ever just done nothing?” 

Quinn hasn’t, of course. There isn’t really time in her life to be doing nothing. Quinn has a plan, life goals, things to do that are  _important_  and wasting her time doing nothing isn’t conducive to achieving anything she wants. 

“No,” she answers, staring quizzically at Brittany. 

“It’s okay,” Brittany says, smiling like she knows exactly what Quinn is thinking. “I taught Santana. I can teach you too.” 

She considers arguing, considers offering a better option for something to do, but her mind reminds her that she needs to get Brittany to like her and that even if doing nothing goes against all her sensibilities, it might bring her a step closer to getting Brittany on her side. So she smiles gratefully at her friend and shifts on the bed until she’s lying next to her. 

“Okay,” she says softly, staring up at Brittany’s ceiling. 

Brittany knocks their feet together. “It’s Santana’s favorite thing to do now.” 

Quinn turns her head to look at Brittany’s profile. “What is?” 

“Nothing,” Brittany says. “I mean if we’re not doing other stuff like kissing.” 

Quinn rolls her eyes at that and turns back away. It’s not that she didn’t know about the weird arrangement Santana and Brittany have involving sex or whatever - she always thought of it as a Santana and Brittany thing instead of a  _gay_  thing - it’s just that she kind of assumed they’d have grown out of it by now. At thirteen it was one thing; now it feels like something way more serious. 

But Quinn keeps her mouth shut because lecturing Brittany on the perversion of her ways isn’t really the best way to get back into her good graces, and it’s not like her heart would really be in it anyway. Plus, Brittany’s bed is warm and comfortable and Quinn might be able to get used to this doing nothing business. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Brittany murmurs, her hand travelling over the comforter until it’s on top of Quinn’s. 

Swallowing, Quinn blinks against the sudden, unwelcome heat in the back of her eyes and keeps her gaze trained on the ceiling. “Me too.” 

They lay in silence, the minutes ticking by peacefully, until Brittany jumps up to get the cookies, her mom yelling at them from the kitchen below. 

Quinn decides to leave at that point because seeing Santana isn’t really on her to-do list tonight despite Brittany’s near constant insistence that Santana would be happy to see her. Quinn knows better.

Brittany hugs her goodbye on her front porch, long arms pulling Quinn in tightly and keeping her there for a long moment. 

“You should come over again,” Brittany says, her palms spread over Quinn’s back. 

Quinn nods in silent agreement and for those few seconds, locked in Brittany’s embrace, feels totally comfortable. 

\--

The next day, Santana is back in school and order is restored to the universe, much to Quinn’s dismay. Brittany is reattached to Santana’s side and absolutely nothing is different from the way it was two days ago. Not that Quinn expected it to be. 

But she had kind of hoped for another day or two with a Santana-less Brittany who is much more easy to mold and coerce than the one with Santana glowering over her shoulder at all times of the day. It doesn’t matter though; the plan hasn’t changed. 

Santana gives her these suspicious looks all day like she knows what Quinn has up her sleeve or that she knows Quinn helped Brittany make the “feel better” cookies she ate yesterday. It’s baseless paranoia- Quinn knows this- but it’s unsettling nonetheless. It gets worse when Brittany decides, out of the blue, to plop down in the chair next to Quinn during glee that afternoon, practically on the other side of the room from where Santana is sitting. 

If Quinn thought Santana hated her before...

“Hi, Quinn,” Brittany greets brightly, knocking her elbow into Quinn’s arm. Sam, who’s sitting on the other side of her, peers at Brittany with a smile and a head nod before sitting back in his chair. “Hi, Sam!” 

“Hey, Britt.” Quinn smiles and tries to ignore the way Santana is staring at them in confusion. It’s not that Santana and Brittany sit next to each other every practice; it’s the way Brittany walks in, pinky locked with Santana, but then bypasses the empty seat next to her friend entirely. The move is so obvious that Quinn feels like she’s on candid camera or something. 

Brittany doesn’t say anything else. She just sits there through glee, laughing and singing and bumping Quinn’s arm in camaraderie ever so often, and Quinn feels completely out of place. Like there’s this big joke that she’s not in on. Especially when glee finally finishes and Brittany still doesn’t really say anything to her. She just smiles brightly at Quinn before skipping across the room to link her pinky with Santana’s and walk away. 

Sam grabs her hand and tangles their fingers together as they stand, looking down at her in question. “You okay?” 

Shaking it off, Quinn smiles at him in a way she knows is disarming. His eyes go out of focus a little bit, and she can’t fight the small flutter of satisfaction. “Perfect,” she answers. 

They walk out together and Quinn brushes off the entire incident, if she can even consider it that, as just Brittany being Brittany. Random and unpredictable. 

Except stuff like that keeps happening for a week, and it’s not long before Quinn has a really hard time just brushing it off. It’s just small stuff that no one but Quinn seems to notice, like how Brittany waves to her across the hallway in the morning, or how she sits next to her in Spanish class again, or how she whispers “good job” when they pass each other during Cheerios practice. 

It’s like having her friend back except  _not_. 

Then, a week after Quinn first enacted her plan to get Brittany back, the taller girl stops by her locker at the end of school, leaned up against the metal near Quinn’s head and smiling at Quinn like it’s totally normal for Brittany to be standing there. Without Santana. 

“Hi, Quinn.” 

“Hello,” Quinn says, looking around the semi-crowded hallway before back up at Brittany. 

“We should hang out,” Brittany says matter-of-factly. 

“Okay,” Quinn replies, nodding. 

“Okay,” Brittany chirps back at her, smiling. 

All of a sudden, Quinn’s wrist is grabbed and she barely has time to shut her locker before she’s being tugged away down the hall. 

\--

Quinn drives them to Brittany’s house and let’s herself get pulled all the way up to Brittany’s room until they’re in the same position they were a week earlier, on their backs on Brittany’s bed doing absolutely nothing. 

Swallowing, Quinn tries to focus less on how good it feels to be around a friend and more on an essential part of her epic plan to regain her throne. “Where’s Santana?” 

Brittany shrugs and keeps her eyes on the ceiling. “Dunno,” she replies. The way Brittany says it, soft and resigned and with a fake nonchalance that Brittany was never really good at, concerns Quinn more than anything. 

Quinn turns her head on the pillow. “Something happen with you guys?” 

With a small shake of her head, Brittany laughs a little bit. “Nope.” 

“You sure?” 

Brittany looks at her. “Why?” 

“Just wondering why she’s not around right now,” Quinn answers truthfully. 

“I can’t want to hang out with just you?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Quinn denies, eyes widening. 

Brittany rolls over a little on the bed, propping her head up on her hand and practically hovering over Quinn. “Do you want me to call her?” 

“No,” Quinn says, probably a little too fervently to be considered normal, but Brittany must not notice because she just keeps smiling down at Quinn. 

“You’re pretty,” Brittany observes. 

Quinn flushes and glances away under the scrutiny. “So you’ve said.” 

“Why are you embarrassed?” Brittany asks in a whisper, running a finger down Quinn’s cheek. She can feel the heat flaring up in her skin there. 

“I’m not.” 

Brittany hums, disbelieving, but lets it go, pulling her finger away and running it down Quinn’s bare arm. The moment is warm and slightly uncomfortable as Quinn tries to figure out how to react with her friend so close to her, staring at her with bright blue eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn finally asks, taking a deep breath. 

“Nothing.” Brittany shrugs. “I just like looking at you.” 

They stay that way, Brittany staring at her and Quinn squirming under the scrutiny, for about a minute before Brittany’s expression changes and she bounces a little away from Quinn. “We should have a dance party.” 

Quinn blinks as Brittany rolls over and jumps off the bed. “A what?” She sits up and watches Brittany bound over to a small iPod dock on the other side of the room. 

“We should dance. We haven’t danced together in a long time.” 

Music starts to play out of the small red iPod Brittany turns on and before Quinn knows it, she’s being pulled up from the bed. She had forgotten how much being Brittany’s friend involved getting manhandled all over the place. 

Then Brittany’s pulling her hair out of its tight ponytail and flailing around to the beat, and Quinn can’t stop the grin that’s spreading across her lips at the sight of her friend’s enthusiasm. 

“Come on, Q,” Brittany encourages, stepping in close. Suddenly their bodies are pressed together and Brittany’s fingers are in Quinn’s hair, tugging it loose in a way that makes Quinn’s stomach flip over and the heat in her cheeks from earlier flare up. 

She blames it on having her personal space invaded and the awkward task ahead of her of dancing with her best friend like it’s something she does all the time in the afternoon. She ignores the fact that she kind of likes being that close to Brittany, and that she can smell the faint scent of vanilla soap that wafts off of Brittany’s skin and the way Brittany’s smile makes her feel like nothing can possibly go wrong. 

This whole having a friend again thing is starting to backfire and she has to take a deep breath and remind herself that this is all business. She plasters a smile on, lets the music wash over her and moves her arms and legs in time with Brittany, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders and laughter bubble out of her. 

It’s not until hours later when she’s back home in her bed, a soreness creeping into her limbs from the unintentional workout, that she realizes that in that small bedroom with Brittany, she was the most happy she’s been in a long time. 

\--

She goes out with Sam that Friday night because it’s  _Friday_  and that’s just what she’s supposed to do. There’s no use in dating the cutest guy in school if no one actually sees her doing it. 

They go to BreadstiX because that’s also just what they’re supposed to do. It’s good anyway because it has the maximum chance of exposure, seeing as it’s become the hot-spot for most of the people at school.

Which is why she shouldn’t be surprised or distracted to see Santana and Brittany sitting two booths over from them, but she is. Maybe it’s because it’s  _just_  Santana and Brittany and Quinn keeps waiting for some guy, any guy, to show up and sit across from them, but no one does. She’s trying to pay attention to Sam who’s going on about some video game he had been playing with Finn, and there’s a part of her that feels entirely weird about her current boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend (a guy she’s not entirely sure she’s over yet) being friends or whatever. In fact, no, it’s really weird. 

But she can’t dwell on it because she can’t stop looking at Santana and Brittany, next to each other in a booth with untouched food in front of them and, from the looks of it, engaged in a heated argument. 

“You want to invite them over here?” Sam turns his head over his shoulder to glance at the other two girls. 

“What?” She’s distracted, but she recovers. “No of course not. We’re on a date.” 

Sam laughs and leans forward over the table, smiling at her in the most appealing manner. 

“You look very pretty tonight,” he comments sheepishly, and there’s a fluttering in Quinn’s stomach she can’t control. 

Quinn likes him. Honestly, she really likes him. She likes his hair, how soft his lips are, the way his abs feel under her fingers and how he gets lost in her eyes. It’s this powerful, secure feeling that’s familiar and seductive, and Quinn can’t stop herself from getting pulled in. 

Santana and Brittany leave some time later, but Quinn doesn’t notice. Sam’s laughing and his palm is sliding across hers and this is an integral part of her plan that she can’t abandon. 

\--

Ever since she was pregnant, Quinn has had strange dreams. Some of them random and inexplicable (a particularly memorable one including a dancing taco and that guy from Blue’s Clues), but some of them are vivid and real and Quinn has some trouble distinguishing dreams from reality. 

Then, for whatever reason, and Quinn blames it mostly on her intense focus on her life plan, she starts dreaming about Brittany. 

Sometimes Santana’s there, glowering or spitting insults. Other times it’s just Brittany. Nothing that exciting happens. Well, unless you count board games and baking and movie watching super exciting. 

Regardless, Brittany’s just  _there_  in her dreamworld, smiling and laughing and telling Quinn how great she is. Quinn likes it in there in fantasy land. 

One night, she dreams about sitting on her couch in her living room, Brittany and Santana there too. In the kitchen she can hear her mother puttering about and jarringly, her father’s deep voice filters through the room as well. Santana is laughing at something Brittany is saying, this warm affection settled in Santana’s expression as she stares at the other girl and Quinn’s left to wonder if this is a dream or a memory. 

The scene shifts and it’s nighttime, but the room hasn’t changed. Quinn’s spread out on her couch, blankets draped over her haphazardly as the faint glow of the TV across the room illuminates the space, the credits to some movie scrolling past. 

Turning her head, she can see Santana and Brittany huddled together on the floor, faces turned towards each other in slumber. Quinn watches them sleep for awhile trying to figure out what this dream is about and why she’s having it when Brittany shifts a little, moving closer into Santana’s side and murmuring something unintelligibly. Quinn should probably feel weird for just staring at her two friends like this, but she’s cognizant that this is a dream, hyper aware that this isn’t really happening because she hasn’t been in the same private space as Brittany and Santana in months. 

The two shift again and Quinn watches Santana’s arm move out from under the blankets, draping over Brittany as they shift even closer together. Brittany stirs again, seemingly waking up and blinks her eyes open. 

Unfortunately, Quinn has seen this scene too many times to count. This part where Brittany smiles softly and closes the distance between her lips and Santana’s. Some emotion stirs in the pit of her stomach that Quinn can’t identify. It’s not surprise or disgust like it might have been when she was younger. It’s not embarrassment for intruding on a private moment or anything like that, because Santana and Brittany have never been very good at hiding that part of their friendship.

She can’t really make it out, but it’s uncomfortable and unsettling and it gets worse when she sees Santana respond, smiling back and pulling Brittany in closer. 

Quinn lets the dream settle around her, her two friends snuggled together on her floor and her on the couch, far away and detached. 

She wakes up with a stomach ache and lies in bed for an hour before actually getting up. 

\--

Her plan isn’t exactly going the way she wants it to. 

Some parts of it are golden. The Cheerios will definitely take nationals again this year, and she rules that team with an iron fist. She can practically see the yearbook spread already. Sam grows more and more enamored with her everyday and they’ve got prom king and queen well within their grasp. 

But the Santana and Brittany thing? That part is just confusing. 

Brittany has apparently decided they’re friends again, so actually that part of it is going swell. Brittany sits next to her in classes and glee occasionally, and she’s even sought her out during lunchtime, and after a rigorous Cheerios practice, Brittany will smile at her as if to say  _job well done_. 

But for all of Brittany’s reaching out, Santana’s done the opposite. She’s become more recluse, scowling more at Quinn for no reason and sneering at her during practice. Her insults carry even more bite than usual, and the more Quinn sees Santana, the more unreachable that friendship feels to her. She’s beginning to rethink the part of her plan where she thought winning Brittany’s affection would help her get to Santana. She’s beginning to think the opposite is true. 

There are moments, fleeting and rare, when Santana forgets that they’re locked in some sort of secret epic feud and she lets a smile cross her lips or catches Quinn’s eye during a group number. It’s this small, insignificant moment when they’re dancing and singing. Santana will look at her and Quinn feels like that elusive utopia of her past life is just right there for the taking. It pulls the air out of her lungs, and she has to remember how to breathe and stay grounded in reality as another part of her wants to just float around in the comfort of the past. 

It helps that Santana feels the moment as soon as Quinn does and like clockwork, the next words Santana will say to her are scathing and terrible. 

It’s like taking two steps forward and then three steps back every time they see each other. Santana’s a variable Quinn can’t control, and it scares her each time she’s reminded of it. 

\--

Brittany seeks her out again. 

She’s at her locker, shuffling around her books and folders while Sam leans up next to it, clinging to a backpack strap slung over his shoulder and telling her about some party Finn invited him to that weekend. 

“We haven’t really done that party thing,” Sam says, with this cavalier smile on his face that Quinn’s starting to love. 

“That party thing?” Quinn runs her fingers over her textbooks trying to remember which ones she has to bring home. 

“You know, big public appearance, our first debut as a couple.” Sam’s laughing a little as he says it and it pulls a chuckle out of Quinn in response. 

“Public appearance? You make it sound so serious.” 

Sam shifts his backpack and drops his shoulder down a little on the row of lockers under it, catching Quinn’s eye and smirking. “Isn’t prom court very serious? We have to give the people what they want.” 

Quinn laughs, but she’s kind of in love with him right now. “You’re right,” she replies, nodding and smiling up at him. “Let’s do that party thing.” 

“Awesome,” he breathes, standing. He leans forward and puts his lips against her forehead, warm and full of promise. “I’ll pick you up later tonight.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. 

Then he’s gone, striding down the hallway and waving his hand at Finn Hudson, towering over the crowd and smiling like a giant dork. Quinn feels her heart swell and ache at the same time and she really needs to stop crying in public. 

The sound of a body hitting metal interrupts her thoughts, and she jerks back a little as Brittany appears next to her, staring down the hallway at Sam and Finn before looking back at Quinn. “Hi, Quinn.” 

“Hey,” she answers, swallowing and shaking her head a little. She pulls the final book out of her locker and shuts it. 

“You going to the party tonight?” They start walking away, Brittany linking her arm through Quinn’s and practically skipping next to her, pulling her in the completely wrong direction. She lets it go though because she can’t turn down a moment alone with Brittany. Quinn scans the hallway for Santana, but doesn’t find her. 

“Yeah, you?” 

Brittany nods, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “You want to go together?” 

“What?” 

“You know,” Brittany says, gesturing a little with her hand. “Do you want to go to the party together?” 

“Sam’s picking me up,” Quinn answers, hating the way sadness flickers over Brittany’s face. “You could come with us though?” 

“Really?” Brittany looks at her earnestly, stopping them at the end of the hallway and turning to face Quinn. 

“Yeah of course,” Quinn smiles. 

“Okay!” Brittany’s expression is cheerful and infectious and Quinn allows herself to smile back, laughing happily. 

“Come over early,” Quinn instructs. “We can get ready together.” 

Brittany’s smile goes even wider before the tall girl is wrapping herself around Quinn, hugging her tightly and bouncing a little in the embrace. 

“See you later, Q,” Brittany whispers, kissing her so swiftly on the cheek that she probably wouldn’t feel it if it weren’t for the sharp spike of heat that shoots through her face and all the way down to her toes. 

Quinn brings her fingers up to her cheek, watching her friend stride off. She blinks away the warm feeling in her stomach and turns to walk back down the hall towards her car. Her eyes are trained on the white tips of her sneakers as she walks, trusting the rest of the people in the hall to move out of her way. Which is why she almost headbutts Santana Lopez. 

Her head snaps up at the last moment into the cold, unfeeling eyes of her former lieutenant. 

They haven’t spoken legitimate words to each other in months. At least not words that didn’t involve mentions of boob jobs and pregnancies and name-calling. The moment is awkward and heavy, and something tightens uncomfortably in her chest.

Quinn considers her options - play nice or assert authority - but her cheek, the spot where Brittany kissed her, starts to heat up and the memory of affection fades as the one of Santana’s slap takes its place. 

Santana just stares at her, arms crossed over her chest, and she can feel the temperature in the hallway drop as the rest of the students take notice of them - waiting on bated breath for the confrontation to explode, she’s sure. 

But Santana just stares, glares really, and stays silent like she’s trying to decide what to make of Quinn or what to say. There’s something in Santana’s expression, some emotion that Quinn can’t quite understand, but it’s gone as Santana seems to make her decision. 

The whole hall of people seem to collectively exhale as Santana rolls her eyes, steps to the side and walks past, her shoulder shoving hard into Quinn’s as she goes. 

Quinn lets herself get shoved, her chest twisting violently as Santana hits her, but she keeps her jaw clenched and her expression blank as she stares ahead, not giving Santana the satisfaction of reacting. 

Quinn’s showing up to a party tonight with the cutest guy in school and  _Brittany_. If there was a way to get at Santana, that was it. She doesn’t stop to think about how much that’s  _not_  the point of her master plan. 

\--

Brittany shows up at her house an hour before Sam is supposed to come. They spend their time in Quinn’s bedroom, picking out clothes and fixing makeup, and Quinn feels  _normal_. Brittany’s full of laughter and enthusiasm, and when she tells Quinn that they look “smokin’ hot,” she believes her. It thrums confidence and strength into her, and for a second she’s almost okay with never having Santana back because having Brittany back feels way too good. 

Sam shows up and doesn’t falter at the sight of Brittany, smiling at her as he rocks back and forth on Quinn’s porch, hands in his pockets. He ushers them both to his car, opening up the doors in mock chivalry and even letting them choose the radio station. Quinn laughs the whole way to Puck’s house as Brittany sings Michael Jackson at the top of her lungs from the backseat. 

Then they actually arrive and Quinn remembers exactly why she kind of  _hates_  parties. 

Sam hands her a wine cooler, this bright smile on his face, but she can’t drink it. She tries to take a sip, but it tastes like regret and ruin, and she can’t stomach it. She sets it on the counter and leaves it untouched. 

Brittany finds Mike seconds after they enter Puck’s house and the two of them are having some epic dance duel in the living room. Finn lumbers over to them, a flush in his cheeks she knows is from whatever cheap keg beer Puck has in the other room. He hits Sam in the arm in greeting and smiles at the two of them. 

“How good are you at beer pong?” 

Sam laughs and flexes his biceps a little. “School champion,” he boasts. 

“Prove it,” Finn challenges, gesturing with his head towards a table on the other side of the kitchen. 

Turning to Quinn, Sam lifts his eyebrows up a little as if to ask her permission. 

“Make me proud,” she commands softly, smiling. 

Sam grins. “Come on,” he says, tangling their fingers together and pulling them both towards the beer pong table. Finn is setting two pitchers down and eying the cup setup. “Be my good luck charm.”

She leans heavily into his side, her other hand grasping the arm she’s holding and spots Rachel Berry, scowling on the other side of Finn, clearly disapproving of the game. 

Quinn hates the way Finn wraps his arm around the short girl and presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. She hates the way Rachel seems to melt at the gesture, her glare softening a little and a small smile replacing it. She hates the way Finn smiles at her with excitement and affection and she hates the way that that used to be her. 

She needs to not be here. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she whispers, turning her head to look up at Sam. 

He smiles and nods, kissing her on the cheek and letting her hand go. “Come back soon, I need you.” 

Swallowing, Quinn chuckles and squeezes his bicep a little, turning on her heel and walking further back into the Puckerman house in search of the bathroom. 

Halfway down the hallway she knows holds the guest bathroom, Brittany runs into her. Like actually legitimately runs straight into her, bouncing off into the wall and sending Quinn crashing into the wall opposite. 

Brittany’s blinks at her owlishly, leaned up against the wall before bursting into giggles and causing Quinn to do the same. 

“Come on,” Brittany says, grabbing Quinn’s hand and intertwining the fingers. The memory of Sam’s hand from earlier makes her palm itch and she notices how soft Brittany’s are compared to Sam’s, rough from years of sports and tree climbing and other testosterone filled activities. 

Brittany tugs them down to the bathroom down the hall and shuts the door behind them, walking further into the small space before jumping up to perch on the counter and smile at Quinn. 

“You don’t actually have to go, right?” 

Quinn shakes her head. It was an old tactic they had perfected years ago. Bathrooms are safe zones at parties and they used to escape into them when they were too tired from dancing or too tipsy from drinking. 

“What are you hiding from?” Quinn asks, turning to look into the mirror next to where Brittany is sitting. She pulls a little at the skin under her eye. 

Brittany shrugs and avoids Quinn’s eyes, the expression on her face uncharacteristically melancholy. “Just am.” 

“Hey,” Quinn says softly, reaching out and setting her hand on Brittany’s denim clad thigh. “What’s wrong?” 

Brittany shakes her head, her long blonde hair, falling over her shoulders as she focuses on the green bathroom rug under Quinn’s feet. 

“Britt,” Quinn entreats, concern rushing over her for the way Brittany looks, all small and sad and so unlike the Brittany she usually sees that Quinn feels all out of sorts. 

Brittany slides off the counter and stares down at Quinn, her head tilted a little and her lip caught between her teeth. “Do you like me?” 

Quinn’s brows pull together. “What? Of course.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Quinn says, nodding. Even if befriending Brittany wasn’t part of her epic plan, she’d want her friend to know this. She’s always liked Brittany. Who doesn’t like Brittany? Brittany’s... _Brittany_. 

“Why?” Brittany takes a step forward and Quinn takes a step back. 

“What do you mean why?” 

Brittany advances again, and Quinn moves with her until her back is up against the bathroom door and Brittany’s towering over her. “Why do you like me?” Brittany’s whole posture is tall and confident and intimidating as she stands Quinn down, but the question is soft and unsure and Quinn reacts to that more than anything. 

“Brittany,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Brittany’s bicep in a friendly gesture. “You’re nice, and funny and a great dancer and really pretty...” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Of course,” Quinn answers without hesitation. 

Brittany seems to take her time digesting that bit of information, emotions fluttering over her face until she settles on surprised happiness, the skin around her eyes wrinkling in mirth as a grin overtakes her lips. Quinn feels tension roll out of her. 

She opens her mouth to suggest that they go back to the party and back to the dance floor because dancing  _always_  cheers Brittany up, but she’s stopped from speaking by Brittany’s lips. 

Brittany’s lips on hers, to be specific. 

Brittany is kissing her. 

Brittany, a girl, is kissing her. Quinn Fabray. 

Quinn’s too shocked to do anything but stand there, pressed against the door as Brittany moves her mouth against Quinn’s, soft and warm. 

After a few seconds, Brittany pulls away and stares at Quinn hesitantly, stepping back a little to put some space between them. 

“What the...?” Quinn says lowly, bringing her fingers up to touch her lips. 

Brittany just blinks at her, waiting and Quinn doesn’t know what to say. There are a million thoughts racing through her head right now. Shock is still preventing her from doing anything she should be doing, like yelling at Brittany or  _leaving_ , but she’s startled out of it all by a loud pounding on the door at her back. 

Brittany steps back as Quinn pushes off the wood and turns, twisting the handle to open the door to an extremely unhappy looking Santana. 

“Get out,” Santana orders, glaring at Quinn. 

“S,” Brittany sighs over Quinn’s shoulder, and suddenly Quinn just wants to be really, really far away. She has no idea what’s happening right now and anxiety, the urge to run far away, is replacing the shock in her system the longer she stands there. 

“Get out,” Santana repeats, ignoring Brittany and sneering at Quinn. “Now.” 

Quinn doesn’t need to be told again, and despite all intentions to never bow down to Santana Lopez, Quinn pushes past her out of the bathroom and walks quickly back to the kitchen, back to Sam, back to something normal. 

\--

From the looks of the scene that greets her in the kitchen, Sam is just as much the champion as he boasted to be. Finn’s got this frustrated disappointed look on his face and a similar, but more intense look is mirrored on the face of his short girlfriend, apparently just as unaccepting of failure in her boyfriend as she is in herself. 

Any other time, Quinn would laugh and gloat and zing a well-aimed barb towards Rachel Berry that’d have everyone talking at school tomorrow. But her heart is racing against her will, and she can still taste Brittany on her lips, and Sam is smiling at her like his night just got so much better now that she’s back. She feels entirely ruined. 

“I’m winning,” he whispers to her, dipping a small white ping pong ball in a cup of water to his right. 

She smiles encouragingly and tries to get her stupid heartbeat to slow down. His arm snakes around her waist, tugging her into his side as he eyes his next shot, his arm poised over the table with the ball. 

Focusing on breathing in and out like a normal person, Quinn’s able to stand there and collect herself, soaking in the warmth of Sam’s body, his lips against her hair and the tight hold he has on her waist. Her heartbeat slows finally, as Sam’s sinking another perfect shot and Finn’s looking distressed at the next cup of beer he has to drink. 

This is of course when Santana walks through the kitchen, dragging Puck by one arm towards the back door of the house that leads to the deck outside. She falters, just a fraction, as her eyes land on Quinn, this look shadowing her face again, the same one Quinn couldn’t identify at school, before her scowl reappears and she disappears with Puck. 

Brittany shows up, seconds later, with a look of complete and utter confusion on her face. She looks around the kitchen, presumably for Santana, but her eyes land on Quinn. Quinn’s heartbeat speeds up again, but Brittany just stares at her, confusion mixing with sadness. Quinn feels irrational anger towards Santana bubble up inside her.

Brittany turns to leave, unnoticed by almost everyone else in the kitchen, and Quinn’s leg twitches as if to follow her, but she doesn’t move. 

Sam utters a victorious cry in her ear, startling her. She manages to smile at his happiness and later, when he pulls her into an empty room, she lets him kiss her against the wall there, doesn’t stop his hands when they slide up her thigh. 

She thinks, unwillingly, of the way Brittany looked in the kitchen, the entire time Sam’s lips on hers. 

\--

She’s not gay. She’s  _not_  gay. 

It’s not a gay thing - this thing where she can’t stop thinking about Brittany’s lips on hers, about their hands linked together, about the way Brittany looks, flushed from dancing and smiling. It’s not a gay thing. It’s a  _Brittany_  thing. 

It takes hours in her bedroom, alone in her own head, to convince herself of this fact. Because she can’t be gay. Really. Not that she is or anything, but she just  _can’t_  be. She has a plan and being gay is not really a part of it. 

But having a  _Brittany_  thing? Well, Santana’s had one of those for years, and it hasn’t hurt her. Hell, the whole school knows about Santana and Brittany, and it didn’t stop Santana from being head cheerleader or being popular. 

So maybe she can have a Brittany thing. 

It makes her smile, just to think about it. But then she thinks about Sam; she thinks about her mom; she thinks about the cross necklace burning into her collarbone, and breathing gets a little difficult.

\--

When she goes to school, after the party, worry twists her gut. It’s stupid, but she feels like everything that she’s ever thought, that she’s ever done, is on display for the entire student body. She hugs her books against the transparent and vulnerable feeling in her chest and keeps her eyes trained forward. 

She’s pulling her math textbook out of her locker when she sees Santana and Brittany hovering near Brittany’s locker. It’s like it was at BreadstiX, weeks before. Santana’s brow is furrowed in anger, leaned slightly towards Brittany, who has her arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping restlessly against the tile of the hallway. 

Trying not to look at them, Quinn focuses on the contents of her locker despite having already gotten what she came here for. She glances back at her two friends just in time for blue eyes to glance her way as well, lips turning up a little as they connect. Santana notices the look and sends a shocked and disgusted expression towards Quinn before pushing off the lockers abruptly and pacing away. 

“Come over later?” Quinn nearly bangs her head into the locker at the sound of Brittany’s voice, suddenly right next to her, but she recovers. 

When she looks over to where Brittany is, casually leaned up against the lockers, and looking like she doesn’t have a care in the world, Quinn  _means_  to say no. The last thing she needs in her life right now is another complication, and getting in between Santana and Brittany is definitely a complication. She needs them both on her side, not pulling in opposite directions. 

But the message between her brain, and her mouth must get lost or something because what ends up coming out is, “Sure,” and Brittany’s bounding off down the hallway before Quinn can correct herself. 

\--

There’s this flutter of anticipation in her stomach when it’s finally  _later_ , and she’s in Brittany’s room. She tries to stomp it down, to stop herself from actually looking forward to something that could ruin  _everything_. 

Brittany must notice of all Quinn’s indecision, because she smiles gently and walks forward. “You look scared,” Brittany murmurs. 

Quinn feigns nonchalance and scoffs. “Why would I be scared?”

Brittany shrugs, and steps into Quinn’s personal space. A flush that she hates creeps up into her cheeks. “Because I kissed you, and you think I might do it again.” 

Quinn’s eyes go wide, and she swallows hard. She thought this conversation might go something more like,  _Sorry I kissed you, I was drunk and sad_. Or maybe something about Brittany’s perfect record, or how she won’t do it again, and they shouldn’t tell anybody. 

She definitely didn’t think Brittany would then say, “I  _am_  going to do it again, you know.”

Brittany’s lips are suddenly on hers, a soft, quick kiss, but it’s enough to pull the breath right out of her. She’s sure her face is rocking some serious expression of shock, and fear, but Brittany keeps smiling. “Britt,” she says quietly, eyes flickering down to Brittany’s mouth and then back up to blue eyes. 

“Stop worrying about it,” Brittany whispers, and before Quinn can protest, they’re kissing again. 

Brittany kisses like she dances - it’s all singular focus, intensity, passion. Quinn gets lost in the feel of it, in the way Brittany’s teeth feel as the pull on her bottom lip, the way Brittany’s hands feel tangled in her hair, and the way Brittany’s heart beats hard against Quinn’s own where their chests are pressed together. 

She has a choice, right here and now, to stop it before it goes to far, and she can still chalk it up to temporary insanity. She’s facing a fork in the road, and she can read the bullet points of her plan scrolling by in the back of her head, screaming at her to choose a certain path. 

But the choice is made for her, when Brittany skillfully backs them up towards the bed, and as she lowers, Quinn backwards, smiles. “It’s okay,” Brittany says softly, and in that moment, for some unknown reason, Quinn believes her. 

Later, when Brittany’s got a hand between Quinn’s legs, and she’s panting upwards towards the ceiling, it doesn’t feel okay at all. She feels like she’s being ripped apart in a thousand different directions, running full speed towards something she can’t see. She doesn’t know how to feel this good with another person, doesn’t know how to accept the feeling without a swirl of guilt and anxiety swirling around it. She doesn’t trust it, doesn’t want to fall into it, but Brittany doesn’t give her a choice. 

It’s when she finally breaks, when all that heat pooling in her groin releases, and Brittany kisses her firmly, that she starts to feel okay again. 

Brittany wraps an arm around her waist, and presses her lips under Quinn’s ear. “It’s okay,” she coos. “I’m here, and you’re going to be fine.” 

It’s only then that she realizes she’s crying. 

\--

“So,” Quinn says, clearing her throat with how rough it sounds. 

It’s late, the sun’s gone down, but Quinn’s yet to leave Brittany’s house. She passed out after sobbing for a good hour in Brittany’s arms, and, exhausted, didn’t wake up for another two. When she finally did wake up, it was to a hot cup of tea, and a sandwich by her bed. 

“So, we had a sex and you cried about it.” 

Leave it to Brittany to cut right to the chase. 

“I wasn’t crying about the…” she hesitates for a moment, “about the sex. The sex was great.” 

“Good,” Brittany says brightly, bouncing up and down a little. “I didn’t think I was bad enough at it to make someone cry. I mean, Santana did once, but that was about something else.” 

Quinn blushes a little, and shakes her head, chuckling under her breath. “You’re far from bad, Britt.” 

They smile at each other for a moment, the memory of just how  _not bad_  Brittany is at it making Quinn squirm slightly, but then Brittany’s smile fades. “So then what are you sad about?” 

She opens her mouth to give a reason, because honestly, there are many, but none of them spring forth, and she’s caught with the overwhelming realization that she has so much to cry about it. 

Brittany scoots to sit next to her, wraps an arm over her shoulders, and presses a kiss to Quinn’s temple. “It’s okay, Quinn. Sometimes you just need to cry.” 

When she turns to smile at Brittany, she feels comfortable for the first time in forever. 

\--

She doesn’t think she’s ever understood Santana Lopez so well until it’s about four o’clock one afternoon, and Brittany’s running her mouth up Quinn’s thigh, smiling up at her in a way Quinn didn’t ever think she’d find sexy, but she can’t deny how ridiculously turned on she is. Yeah, Quinn  _totally_  gets the whole Santana and Brittany thing. 

It’s the third time they’ve done this, the third afternoon Quinn’s showed up at Brittany’s house and stayed in her bed for hours. As it turns out, Brittany’s pretty good at it, and Quinn thinks that maybe, for the first time, she gets why everyone is so hung up on sex all the time. 

Brittany’s hovering over her, and Quinn’s having some hard time breathing, but she pools enough strength to push up, rolling them over so that she’s on top. Cradled between Brittany’s thighs, Quinn rocks down and feels an intoxicating sense of power at the way Brittany gasps. 

This has never been an arena Quinn’s felt particularly secure about. Her sexual experience has been tragically limited, and when it comes to the things girls do to each other, she’s mostly clueless. But Brittany’s a patient teacher, and the sounds Brittany makes as Quinn trails kisses across Brittany’s jaw starts to build confidence in her gut. 

It doesn’t stop her, however, from wondering about all the people that have been here before her. Quinn may be able to tally the amount of people she’s had sex with on one finger, but Brittany’s had enough sexual partners for the both of them. 

In the worst moment she thinks of Santana, thinks about how much better her friend probably is at this than she is. Santana’s been with Brittany for longer, been with  _people_  for longer, and Quinn feels cripplingly unskilled. 

But then, with Quinn’s fingers knuckle deep inside her, Brittany’s hands grip in Quinn’s hair, and a strangled “ _Quinn_ ” leaves the lips close to her ear. Something tightens abruptly in Quinn’s chest at the sound, and heat pricks the backs of her eyes. 

Insecurity floods out of her, and warmth replaces it, and Quinn thinks that maybe she could get used to it. The idea terrifies and comforts her all at once. 

\--

It falls quickly to routine. Afternoon rolls around and Quinn finds herself with Brittany, naked minutes after entering her bedroom, and gasping for breath not long after that. She’s so used to the routine that she’s practically stripping as she walks into Brittany’s room. 

And then one afternoon, Brittany stops her, bottom lip tucked under a row of white teeth, and fear spikes inside of Quinn. It’s not that she thought this thing would go on forever, but she’s not ready for it to stop  _now_. 

“What’s wrong?” she manages to croak out. 

“Nothing,” Brittany responds, shaking her head, but she looks nervous and unsure and it’s making Quinn feel even more anxious. “I just...” 

“Spit it out,” Quinn snaps before she can help herself, nerves coloring her tone. 

Brittany practically flinches, which makes Quinn feel even  _worse_ , but Brittany recovers quickly. “Would it be okay if...well I got these...” 

Quinn takes a deep breath, tries to stamp down her bitchy defense mechanisms, and grabs Brittany’s hand. “Britt, what’s up? You’re freaking me out.” 

“I got these tickets for a free round of miniature golf at that putt putt course that just opened, and I was wondering if you’d go with me...” 

When the words register, Quinn laughs. This loud, body shaking laugh that has Brittany’s eyes widening in response. 

“Sorry,” Quinn gets out around laughter. “I just...mini golf? That’s it? You had me worried it was something way worse.” 

“Oh,” Brittany says softly. “I just...I didn’t know if you’d be okay just like hanging out.” 

Quinn scoffed, looked at Brittany like she was crazy. “Come on,” she said pulling her out of the room. “I hope you enjoy losing.” 

This time it’s Brittany that starts to laugh. “And people think  _I’m_  stupid...” 

\--

They play miniature golf for hours, Quinn learning quickly that Brittany’s not that bad at the game. They’re neck and neck after the first few holes. They buy hot dogs and sodas at the concession stand, smiling conspiratorially at each other over their very un-Cheerios-diet-approved food. 

“These are so bad for us,” Quinn practically moans after the last bite of her hot dog. 

“That’s why they’re so delicious,” Brittany says with a smirk. 

Quinn teaches Brittany how to get a hole in one on the dragon hole, shooting it into his mouth with just enough speed to reach the hole on the other end, and Brittany shows Quinn how to do a victory dance after sinking a shot. 

“More arms, Quinn,” Brittany instructs, waving her arms about crazily, putter in one hand and orange colored ball in the other. “You have to move your arms more.” 

“You look ridiculous.” 

Brittany grins wide. “Well yeah,” she says, sounding slightly out of breath from jumping around. “That’s kinda the point.” 

They laugh and joke, and when Brittany grabs her hand as they’re leaving Quinn realizes how much like a  _date_  the whole afternoon was. 

It feels weird to realize they spent a whole afternoon together without having sex when they  _could_  have been having sex, and that warm feeling she always has when she’s around Brittany explodes in her chest nearly consuming her. She shouldn’t be surprised really because they were friends long before they were anything else, but Quinn’s never really nailed that whole friends and lovers thing down. It’s always one or the other, and the idea that Brittany would want her for something other than a quick afternoon orgasm...well it’s not something she’s entirely used to. 

Brittany asks her shyly, after they return home, if Quinn would go again sometime, suggests maybe going bowling next week, and the  _duh_  is out of Quinn’s mouth so fast Brittany barely finishes talking. 

Brittany kisses her goodbye, whispers a quick  _thanks_  against Quinn’s lips, and is gone inside her house before Quinn can say anything else. 

As she’s walking back to her car, fingers running over her lips, she smiles, realizing that things are changing, but for the first time she isn’t entirely terrified of it. Happiness bubbles up in her for the umpteenth time that afternoon and the once foreign feeling is starting to feel more comfortable. 

Sam texts her not too long she gets back to her house, asks if she wants to go out that Friday, and a knot forms in Quinn’s gut, pushes all that elation from moments ago away. She texts him back, tells him she’d love to and that she misses him, ends it with a smiley face and a small heart because that’s the only way she knows how to do this. 

As she lies in bed that night, she wonders if she’ll ever be able to do this the normal way, if she’ll ever be able to be happy without hurting other people. 

\--

They quit the Cheerios, and it’s the first thing they’ve done as a threesome in forever. It goes against everything she’s planned for herself this year, but with Santana and Brittany walking in step with her, she finds she doesn’t care. She wonders when, exactly, her plan started to change. 

When they’re out of Coach Sylvester’s line of sight, Santana sags against a nearby wall, and stares up at Quinn with wide, disbelieving eyes. “We just quit the Cheerios.” 

“Yeah,” Brittany breathes, bumping her shoulder into Quinn’s companionably. “And now I don’t have to die before One Tree Hill ends.” 

“We just quit,” Santana repeats. “I’m not a cheerleader anymore.” 

Quinn laughs, adrenaline coursing through her. “You get used to the feeling.” 

Santana rolls her eyes. “That’s right, you’ve already done this once before.” 

“I didn’t  _quit_ ,” Quinn says dryly, “I meant not being a cheerleader.” 

A warm hand suddenly grabs Quinn’s arm, and Brittany’s staring at her with wide, bright eyes. “I can wear my hats to school!” 

“Come on,” Santana says, laughing as she pushes off the wall and walks forward. “We have a performance to get to.” 

They walk in a line, the three of them, and Quinn lets herself think, for just a moment, that maybe one part of her plan hasn’t been entirely ruined yet. Santana’s actually smiling at her, and talking to her, and maybe she  _can_  have all the things she wants. 

She allows herself the fantasy until they’re putting their costumes on for half time, and she looks over to where Brittany is standing in just her spanks and bra. Her stomach flips over as she inhales sharply, the sight of Brittany’s abs sending a flush through her whole body. 

Brittany must notice the scrutiny, because she shoots Quinn a look, and then with a wink, mouths  _later_. Quinn shakes her head, but she’s smiling, and a second later they’re both laughing softly. 

Santana’s head shoots up from where she’s tying her boots. That fantasy about having everything she wants evaporates with the way Santana looks between them curiously before glaring at Quinn. 

Later, when they’re leaving the game, she watches Santana pull Brittany aside, her arm stroking down Brittany’s affectionately as she leans in to whisper something, smiling. 

Quinn watches Brittany laugh at whatever Santana’s saying before nodding, Santana’s wide grin reflected on Brittany’s face, and that’s when Quinn realizes Santana and Brittany aren’t as broken as she’s been assuming. 

It bothers her. It bothers her way more than it probably should, but the idea that Brittany’s sleeping with  _both_  Santana and Quinn is eating at her gut, and she feels her fists clench at her side. The heat spiking in her chest feels suspiciously like jealousy and Quinn’s not quite sure what she’s supposed to do about that. 

They’re not  _together_. Not in the traditional sense. Sure, they go on things that feel like dates, and they make out in the backseat of Quinn’s car like she’s always seen in the movies, but they don’t hold hands in school, and she doesn’t call Brittany her girlfriend, and she has no right to want to punch Santana in the face right now. Because she’s dating  _Sam_ , a  _boy_ , the way it’s supposed to be, and all these feelings aren’t going to do her any good. 

But the look on Santana’s face when they make eye contact, Santana pulling Brittany towards her car by the hand, tells her all she needs to know. Something has to give eventually, and Quinn’s not sure if she’s ready for the fallout. 

\--

The next day Quinn tries really hard not to think about Santana and Brittany together, but the image seems seared across her brain. It bothers her so much that she barely hears any of the lecture English, can’t concentrate for more than a minute in biology. 

Sam finds her at her locker right before math, and she’s trying really hard to pay attention to whatever it is he’s saying, but Brittany’s locker is just down the hallway, and it’s annoyingly distracting just to know Brittany’s standing mere feet away. 

“So I was thinking maybe we could go out Friday. Maybe go bowling or something.” It’s all she catches at the tail end of Sam’s spiel, and Quinn’s just able to tear her gaze away from Brittany in time to not draw too much suspicion. 

“I can’t,” she answers abruptly, closing her locker door. She’s desperate to talk to Brittany, make a connection with the image of her and Santana far too vivid and present in her mind.

Confusion furrows his brow. “What, why?” 

“I’m busy,” Quinn answers impatiently, trying to smile at him reassuringly. She just needs to play the part for a few more minutes, get rid of him and then she can do what she wants to be doing. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“I have to um...,” she fumbles for an excuse. “I have a family thing. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” he shrugs, but still looks skeptical. “That’s okay, I guess. Maybe some other time?” 

“Definitely.” She kisses him on the cheek in apology before walking away, closing the space between her and Brittany. 

“Hey, Britt,” she greets, putting a hip up against the lockers. 

“Hi, Quinn,” Brittany replies happily, smiling in a way that makes Quinn wish she could kiss her. 

“You want to go bowling this Friday?” 

Brittany’s eyes light up immediately and she practically bounces up and down in excitement. “Yes!” 

“It’s a date,” Quinn says decisively, Brittany’s enthusiasm starting to infect her. 

“Awesome,” Brittany draws out. 

“Walk you to math class?” Quinn holds out her arm for Brittany and smiles when she takes it. 

\--

A few days later, Santana corners her in one of the school bathrooms, glaring at some lingering students until they're left alone. 

“Hi,” Quinn says warily, mascara brush halted in front of her face. 

“I know what you’re doing with Brittany,” Santana says darkly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Her heart jumps, but Quinn’s not really new to this game. “What,  _bowling_?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Quinn. We’ve known each other too long.” 

She recaps her mascara, and puts it away, turning to Santana with a raised brow. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“I see things,  _okay_?” Santana’s scowling, but for a second, Quinn thinks she sees some other emotion in the way Santana’s knuckles are practically white where they’re gripping her arms, and her jaw is clenched so hard it looks painful. “You need to back off.” 

Eyebrow arched, Quinn scoffs a little. They’re not on the Cheerios anymore so their power balance is all murky again, and Quinn hates the little reminder of how much her life has changed. “What’s it to you?” 

“She’s  _my_  best friend.” 

“She’s  _our_  best friend, actually, and I’m pretty sure she can speak for herself.” 

Santana’s face goes dark. “You’re just a piss poor replacement for  _me_ , you get that right?” 

It’s a good thing Quinn’s a master at feigning indifference, because Santana’s words clench so painfully in her gut that she nearly winces. Instead, she manages a casual shrug. “Whatever helps you sleep easier.” 

“I’m warning you to stop whatever thing you’ve got going on. Stop trying to get back at me by using her.” 

Anger bubbles up inside of her quick and hot. “It’s really not about you, Santana.” She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “God, you’re such self-centered bitch. Just stay out of it.” 

“Not gonna happen,” Santana replies lowly. “I won’t let you keep doing this. Not with her.” 

“You don’t get a say in it.” 

Santana laughs darkly. “That’s what you think.” 

Quinn arches an eyebrow at her. “Why the hell do you care about what I do or don’t do with Brittany anyway?” 

It’s a dumb question because Quinn knows exactly why Santana cares so much. The why of it all is what’s making Quinn’s chest hurt, what’s making fear curl around her throat. 

Face a mess of anger, Santana glares at her. “Just back off.” 

“If you want her so much, why don’t you talk to  _her_  about it?” It comes out before she can stop it and she wishes she could take it back almost immediately. The last thing she needs right now is Santana putting up a legitimate fight, actually drawing lines between them all. It would ruin  _everything_. 

Santana shakes her head, expression dark. “It’s not about wanting her; it’s about wanting you away from her.” 

“You can’t have it both ways, Santana.” 

It’s times like these that she wishes she and Santana were better friends, wishes she could read through all that hesitation and pain on Santana’s face. They’re silent for a moment, and Quinn’s left to wonder what’s going through Santana’s brain. 

“You’ll make the same choice that I did,” Santana says eventually, uncrossing her arms, and looking at Quinn matter-of-factly. 

“And what choice is that?” 

“Social status. You’ll choose your reputation in this shithole school ten times out of ten over Brittany.” 

Quinn swallows sharply, tries not to react visibly. “You don’t know that.” 

“You will,” Santana says with conviction. “I know you, and you will. You can’t have both; you can’t have the queen bitch crown and the secret gay sexcapades at the same time. So leave her alone before you hurt her like I have.” 

And with that, Santana leaves. 

\--

As serious as it’s gotten, as much as she secretly loves it, it’s an escape. Quinn knows it is. This thing with Brittany is like a vacation to a world where things are easy, and free, and she stops worrying for a brief moment. 

So, she reminds herself everyday that it’s not going to last. That it’s some weird anomaly in her life, and eventually the world will right itself again. It’s like taking a detour on the journey of her life, stopping just for a moment to collect herself before continuing on. She doesn’t need to stop it because it will stop itself. 

She repeats it over and over again in her head, reminds herself every time she sees Brittany to stop letting her heart stutter like it does, or for her stomach to flip over like it’s anticipating something.

Everyday she wakes up thinking  _this could be the day it ends_. 

It gets hard though, when it’s early in the morning, the sun slanting in through the blinds of Brittany’s bedroom windows, and Quinn watches the light play over Brittany’s hair. Blue eyes will blink open sleepily, and when they connect with Quinn, this slow, sated smile creeps across Brittany’s face. Quinn thinks that this is what people mean when they talk about happiness and love. She’s stuck between knowing how much it will hurt to continue the way they are, and how much it will hurt to end it now. 

Then she’ll see the way Brittany stares at Santana in the hallways, the way her face sort of crumples when Santana walks past without acknowledging them, and Quinn realizes that maybe she’s an escape for Brittany too. That for this moment in time, they kinda need each other, and it makes Quinn feel better and worse all at once. 

Santana’s words float over her at the most inconvenient times. 

It should make her sad. It should make her want to end things before they get even more complicated. But when Brittany slides her palm against Quinn’s, and she smiles at her softly, it’s like she can breathe again. 

Quinn just needs to breathe. 

\--

The problem is, Quinn knows life isn’t going to let her breathe for too long, and lo and behold, things get all kinds of messy after that. 

It’s one hundred percent Santana’s fault. She refuses to believe otherwise. 

Sam corners her in the library one afternoon with a stern, ominous expression on his face. 

Arching her eyebrow in question, she looks up at him. “Hi.” 

“I need you to tell me something and I need you not to lie about it.” 

“I don’t lie you to, Sam,” she says sternly, eyes narrowing. “And I’m a little offended you’d imply otherwise.” 

He seems to recoil a little at her expression before gathering strength with a deep breath and staring at her intently. “Are you cheating on me?” 

Eyes wide, Quinn straightens up indignantly. “Excuse me?” she draws out. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’re always busy and you don’t return my calls, and....” He pauses, seems to debate something with a quick glance towards the floor. “And it’s not like you have a clean history with other guys.” 

“I know you didn’t just say that,” Quinn intones lowly. 

“Are you going to deny it?” Sam hisses, leaning close to her. “You cheated on Finn with Puck. Why wouldn’t I assume you’re doing the same to me?” 

“Because I’m not,” Quinn grinds out. 

He pulls away from her a little and shrugs. “Then where were you last Friday?” 

“What?” 

“Last Friday, I know you didn’t have some family thing. Where were you?” 

“Sam,” she sighs out. 

“If you’re not cheating then just tell me where you were.” 

“I had a headache and I went to bed,” Quinn lies, because  _I took Brittany bowling and then fingered her in back of my car afterward_  is probably not the answer he’s looking for. 

“You’re lying,” he accuses. 

“I’m not.” 

“Look, Quinn, I was talking to Santana and--” 

“First mistake,” Quinn interrupts. 

“She told me some interesting things.” 

Quinn’s stomach drops, the knowledge of all the things Santana could tell Sam curling anxiety in her gut. “Santana’s a liar. Whatever she told you.” 

“Santana’s never lied to me,” Sam says, ignoring Quinn’s answering scoff. “And I’m kind of wondering why you can’t just answer the question. I’m not a complete idiot, Quinn. Stop treating me like one.” 

“Then stop acting like an idiot,” she bites out. “I’m not cheating on you.” 

“Where were you last Friday?” he repeats. 

“I told you,” she says slowly. “I had a family--” 

“You didn’t!” Sam exclaims loudly. The librarian shushes them immediately, and he sends her an apologetic look before hunching closer to her and lowering his voice. “I know you went bowling, I just don’t know who you went with, so just tell me Quinn. Who is he?” 

In that moment she’s overcome with the sudden knowledge that she really doesn’t care if Sam’s about to break up with her. Anxiety is thrumming through her sure, but it’s the threat that her plan moves farther out of her grasp that scares her. Her heart is calm and sure, happy with what it would still have. 

“I’m not cheating on you, Sam,” Quinn repeats. She moves away from him with a roll of her eyes. “You’re just going to have to trust me.” 

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, and Quinn should feel like the subject is closed, that she’s won this one, but she knows better. 

\--

The next time she sees Santana, it’s in the second floor girl’s restroom, and her former best friend is smirking in way that doesn’t bode well for Quinn. 

“What are you so happy about?” she asks as Santana comes in and leans back against the sink.

“You know I didn’t get it at first, the big lips thing, but now I kind of do.” 

Quinn turns a confused expression towards Santana, closing the compact in her hand and putting it into her purse. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“The abs too, the abs are nice. I mean there’s a not a ton going on upstairs, but he’s pretty to look at.” 

Realization drops over Quinn. “Santana,” she warns darkly. 

Santana’s smile drops from her face and she levels Quinn with a look. “You take something of mine. I take something of yours. Your move, Fabray.” 

Quinn’s left there watching the door shut behind Santana’s retreating form with her jaw clenched and her heart tight. 

\--

The thing is though, is that Santana didn’t actually take away the one thing Quinn’s most protective of, the thing Quinn’s been sure Santana would take from her for weeks now. She lost Sam, sure, and that’s just another part of her plan that’s got  _failed_  written next to it, but she does have one thing. Right now, with everything broken around her, she finds that this one thing is all that's keeping her head above water. 

And just thinking that makes her realize how much more serious this  _thing_  with Brittany has gotten. 

“I’m sorry about Sam,” Brittany says, stroking damp hair off Quinn’s forehead. 

They’re naked, in bed, and the last thing Quinn really wants to talk about is  _Sam_. “It’s fine.” 

She cranes her neck up to press their lips together, and hopefully change the subject to something that involves a lot less talking, but Brittany’s persistent. “I know you liked him.” 

Quinn sighs, flops back down to her pillow. “I like what he represented,” she confesses. 

The skin between Brittany’s eyes wrinkles in confusion. “Huh?” 

It wasn’t a conversation they could have had months ago when this all started, but Quinn’s resigned herself to reality at this point. She’s not head cheerleader anymore, she doesn’t have the guy, and she knows the more she allows herself to do  _this_  with Brittany, the less chance she has of ever winning Santana over. 

“After last year, and everything that happened, I just wanted to feel normal again.” 

“Quinn, you’re pretty normal,” Brittany whispers. 

“I had a plan. Head cheerleader, cute boy, get you and Santana back.” 

After thinking for a second, Brittany laughs abruptly. 

“What?”

Brittany shrugs, still smiling. “Well you got me at least.” To punctuate the sentence, Brittany rocks her hips down, her right hand sliding down Quinn’s body to rest at her side just under her breast. 

“Yeah,” Quinn breathes. “But the cheerleader thing didn’t last and well, Sam and Santana...” 

“Are dating each other.” The smile on Brittany’s face fades, and Quinn remembers bitterly, that in a way, Brittany’s affected by the whole thing too. 

“Santana’s an idiot,” Quinn says suddenly, for reasons not entirely clear to her. 

Brittany smiles again, and with more affection that Quinn really likes says, “Yeah, she can be.” 

“You really love her.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out so bitter sounding, but it does. 

Brittany shrugs. “She’s Santana, of course I love her.” 

Suddenly uncomfortable, and hyper aware of how naked she is, Quinn squirms slightly away from Brittany and hums noncommittally. 

The blue eyes looking down at her grow dark with seriousness. “Why does that bother you?” 

“It doesn’t,” she deadpans. 

“Kinda seems like it does.” 

“Why  _doesn’t_  it bother you?” 

Brittany jerks back a little. “What?” 

“Sam, Santana, the whole thing...why doesn’t it bother you? You’re acting like everything is fine.” 

“It’s not fine,” Brittany says softly. 

Quinn’s leg twitches with the need to leave the bed. She exhales sharply through her nose, but Brittany keeps speaking before she can even open her mouth to stop her. 

“It’s not fine, but I’m here with you,” Brittany continues, brushing a strand of hair off Quinn’s forehead. “I’m here with you and it makes me forget that some other things aren’t so fine. I feel good when I’m with you.” 

Swallowing dryly, Quinn looks way for a moment. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here sometimes.” 

Brittany shrugs. “Life’s hard.”

Quinn lets out a barking laugh. “Original.” 

Before she can say something else about how stupid she’s been this past few months, and she needs to leave, Brittany kisses her, strokes her tongue against Quinn’s lips teasingly, and rolls more firmly on top of her. 

When they break apart, they’re both breathing a little harder. “Being with you is easy,” Brittany says, smiling softly. “It’s fun. I like it.” 

Quinn doesn’t think anyone has ever even  _thought_  being with her was easy, much less said it out loud. She laughs disbelievingly, but Brittany just keeps smiling. “Isn’t it easy to be with me?” 

“Well, sure,” Quinn says. Of course it’s easy to be with Brittany. It’s  _Brittany_. 

“I love you,” Brittany says quietly. “That’s what makes it so easy.” 

It twists something inside of Quinn that she doesn’t want to feel. She hates how good the words sound, wonders if she’ll ever be able to hear them and actually believe them, actually allow herself to sink into them without hesitation. “You love everyone.” 

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees easily, “But it doesn’t make me love you any less.” 

Brittany kisses her firmly, and with certainty, and Quinn feels it all the way to her toes. It’s jarring to get something she’s always wanted from someone she never expected to give it to her. 

“I’m not Santana,” Quinn whispers into the dark after they break apart. It’s the one thing she thinks could break this, the one thing that will make it all stop. 

But Brittany just smiles a little sadly and puts her palm on Quinn’s cheek before kissing her softly. “I know,” she whispers. “I promise that I know.”

“I’m sorry. I know you miss her.” 

Brittany smiles at her knowingly, and evades. “I know  _you_  miss her.” 

“Santana?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I really don’t,” Quinn denies. 

“Quinn,” Brittany admonishes. “It’s okay to miss your best friend.” 

She hasn’t thought of Santana as that in so long, that just the words bring a lump into her throat. “I just don’t know how everything got so messed up.” 

“She’ll come around,” Brittany says certainly. “Things will settle down, go back to normal, and you’ll get a hold of your life again. I know it.” 

It’s what she’s wanted to hear for a long time now, especially said with such certainty, but as Brittany kisses her, and runs long fingers down Quinn’s stomach, an aching fear takes hold of her. 

Because she’s pretty sure that  _getting a hold on her life again_  means letting go of Brittany. For the first time ever, Quinn’s not so sure it’s an even trade. 

“In the meantime,” Brittany says, interrupting Quinn’s dark train of thought, “just be with me. Let life be easy for a little bit.” 

Quinn swallows dryly, feeling the sting of hot tears at the back of her eyes, but manages a smile. “I love you,” she croaks out. 

The grin Brittany gives her is wide, and free. “I love you too.” 

It’s probably not meant in the same way Quinn means it. Not in the  _I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone_  kind of way that Quinn does. There are just some things that Santana has, that Quinn never will. Some things that Santana laid claim to long before Quinn ever showed up to play. 

But when she runs her fingers confidently down Brittany’s abs, and the girl above her gasps, eyes fluttering closed, Quinn thinks maybe they’ll have a fair fight. 

\--

The problem with fighting with Santana Lopez, however, is that it’s never fair. Santana’s had some kind of hold on Brittany since they were kids, and Quinn doesn’t think she’d ever be equipped enough to win against that. 

It becomes clearer when she watches Santana sing to Brittany during glee, tears in her eyes and heart on her sleeve, and Quinn can’t stop the way her chest squeezes painfully at the sight. She’s not sure what’s more painful, the desperate love in Santana’s eyes, or the certain love in Brittany’s. 

\--

Things would just be a lot easier, she thinks, if Finn Hudson just didn’t exist. 

He breaks up with Rachel, and she can’t deny that she’s a little happy about it. Finn represents a time in her life when things made sense, when she felt like she was in control, and her life was going the direction she wanted it. Now, she feels like she’s constantly running uphill, tugging a weight that keeps pulling her back down. 

So when he breaks it off with Rachel, it’s like a shimmer of hope flashing across her vision. Her plan shifts immediately, and suddenly Finn becomes everything she’s ever wanted. Her plan could still work; the players would just change. 

She ignores that voice in the back of her head telling her that the plan was ruined long ago and no amount of trying will fix it. The voice sounds suspiciously like Brittany. 

With Santana putting up her fight for Brittany, this kind of out is practically a godsend. Suddenly, her plan starts to reconstruct itself in front of her. If she bows out now, if she concedes the fight to Santana and goes after Finn, her life actually has a chance of rebuilding itself like she’s always wanted to. 

Then Finn finds her in the hallway and she knows  _exactly_  what the dopey smile on his face means. It’s like suddenly life has decided to be kind to her and send her everything she’s always wanted gift-wrapped in one tall lumbering package. 

“Hey, Quinn.” 

“Finn,” she greets, smiling up at him softly. Calm, easy memory of a simpler time swirls around her. 

“So I’ve been thinking....” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly and Quinn remembers why she always found him so cute. “I was hoping maybe you’d like to go out with me sometime? Maybe go to BreadstiX or something.” 

It’s right there - her plan completely rebuilt. It’s so close that all she has to do is take a step forward and take it. 

Except she can’t. 

Somehow in all of this, everything changed and suddenly, the idea of stopping whatever it is she has with Brittany is killing her. The idea of letting Santana have Brittany, of releasing any claim Quinn’s gained in the last few months is hurting her more than she realized possible. 

So she has a choice. A decision to make that should be easy, because she’s on the cusp of having something she’s always wanted, but is suddenly impossible. 

She thinks about blonde hair and blue eyes, and this lightness in her chest in the early hours of the morning, Brittany’s laughter in her ear. 

She thinks about the all-powerful feeling of running sure fingers across strong muscles, of the way Brittany’s eyes shoot open when she comes, and the way Quinn’s name sounds on a gasped breath. 

Nothing can really compare to the way  _I love you_  feels. Not being head cheerleader, not being the most popular girl in school, nothing. 

It turns out that the hardest choice she’s ever had to make is actually the easiest. 

“I’m sorry, Finn,” she says, reaching forward to put a hand on his arm and squeeze companionably. “But I’m not interested.” 

\--

She catches Brittany after glee, pulls her around the corner to a much less crowded hallway, and hovers close enough to her so their conversation can’t be overheard. 

Eyes darting around, Quinn tries to decide what to say. “I liked your song,” she decides to start with. “With Santana.” 

Brittany’s brow furrows a little bit, but she smiles. “Thanks.” 

“So...” Words are hard. Feelings are hard. Words about feelings are pretty much impossible. How can she express to Brittany how she feels about this whole thing, how can she fight against Santana Lopez when it comes to Brittany? She feels suddenly weak and unprepared. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” 

Quinn shakes her head to clear her thoughts, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry, I just...” 

She takes a deep breath, pulls her eyes up to meet Brittany’s, and tries to look serious. “I know that Santana is Santana, and I’m Quinn, and, and, you...you’re Brittany.” 

Brittany’s eyes go wide. “Were you confused about that before?” 

“No,” Quinn laughs. “I’m just saying...” she shakes her head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

“Maybe you should have written it down.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Quinn smirks, takes another deep breath and looks around again, feeling way too exposed. She eyes the bathroom down the hall, and grabs Brittany’s hand, pulling her inside. 

It only takes a few glares at some loitering freshman and they’re alone. Brittany rests a hip against a sink, and eyes Quinn curiously. “You’re acting weird.” 

“I love you,” she blurts out, hands screwing together nervously.

A hesitant smile crosses Brittany’s face. “I know...” 

“I just mean,” Quinn hates how her voice sounds - shaky and unsure, and she wonders where all that head cheerleader confidence went. “I want to be with you. And I don’t want you to be with Santana anymore. And I just feel like you should know that I...that my hat’s in the ring.” 

Confusion fails to leave Brittany’s face. “There’s a ring?” She pauses, looking Quinn up and down. “You’re not wearing a hat...I’m confused.” 

Quinn sighs, but there’s laughter on the tail end of it. “It’s an expression, Britt. It means...I’m here if you want me. This isn’t just...this isn’t just about being easy for me anymore. I think we could do this.” 

Brittany’s hand darts out, wraps around Quinn’s wrist, and warmth shoots up her whole arm. The sounds of the hallway, barely audible through the wood door, go dull in her ears, and all she’s aware of is piercing blue eyes, and a smile that makes Quinn believe in happiness again. 

“You want to be with me,” Brittany repeats in a whisper. “Like as my girlfriend.” 

The words wraps fear around Quinn’s throat, but she fights it off. “Yeah,” she chokes out. “I want this to be serious. I want...I want it to just be us.” 

What she means is,  _I want it to stop being about Santana_ , but the principle is the same. She’s not entirely ready for a public declaration, or to start singing songs to Brittany in glee, but she  _is_  ready to stop pretending like this is just a fling, a meaningless escape from the harsh reality she lives in. 

This thing with Brittany is real. Realer than anything she’s had to deal with in a long time. 

“I’m in love with you,” she whispers firmly, looking at Brittany dead on. “And I know that you’re Brittany, and you’re in love with the world, and I love that about you, but I guess I just...maybe you could just be in love with me too for a while.” 

Brittany’s smile is so wide it nearly makes Quinn jerk back when she sees it. “That sounds kinda nice...” she says softly. 

“I know,” Quinn laughs, shrugs. “I think we’d be good at it though.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Totally.” 

“Okay,” Brittany breathes out, still smiling. 

“Okay?” 

“Let’s do it,” Brittany says. She pauses a moment, shifts her eyes to the side briefly. “Besides I sort of already told Santana that we were.” 

Quinn furrows her brow. “Were what?” 

“Dating,” Brittany answers with a shrug.

“You did?” 

“Kinda felt like it.” 

“You told  _Santana_?” 

“Well,” Brittany looks down at her feet and then back up. “She...well she sang to me you know, and then she sort of like said what you said about wanting to be with me, and I love her and everything, I  _totally_  love her, but I told her I couldn’t because well...I guess I thought that...” 

“Brittany,” Quinn breathes out softly, eyes wide and stomach tight. She didn’t consider that Santana would beat her to the punch. She certainly didn’t consider that Santana would beat her to the punch and Brittany would...reject her. 

“You told Santana no,” she says in an awed voice. 

“Yeah,” Brittany replies, nodding. “I said it wouldn’t be fair to you...because you know...we go on dates and stuff and that’s like...” 

“Dating,” Quinn deadpans. 

“Yeah. I mean I can’t be with her when it feels like I’m already...with you...” 

“I..you...” Quinn blinks, feeling dumb. “You turned down  _Santana_...for  _me_.” 

“Why do you sound so surprised right now?” 

Quinn shakes her head, laughs. “I just... _wow_.” 

“Good wow?” 

Their eyes connect, and Quinn feels an easy grin spread across her lips, nods and lets her previously tense muscles relax. “You’re making me pretty happy right now,” Quinn says before she can stop herself. 

Brittany’s nose wrinkles, her shoulders visibly relaxing too. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she says softly and Quinn doesn’t know if she’s ever felt this good in her life. 

A long arm loops through Quinn’s and pulls them out of the bathroom. “Come on, we’re going to be late and I have this really great idea for a cat drawing I want to put on my notebook during math.” 

They head back out into the hallway, towards students and teachers and everything Quinn resents, but Quinn can’t find it in her to care right now, can’t seem to muster up that contempt she holds for high school. Not when Brittany’s laughing next to her, matching her steps as they walk together, and their conversation plays on a loop in her head.

They pass Santana, and Brittany waves, smiling even as Santana’s face screws up in confusion and hurt. Quinn just smiles a little at her, shrugs one shoulder as if to apologize. Santana rolls her eyes, turns her back to them to open her locker, and Quinn lets a sad resignation roll over her. 

She knew it had to be one or the other, that she’d have to make a choice at the end of it all, and with the warmth of Brittany’s arm against hers she’s comfortable with the one she made, even as she watches Santana violently stuff books into her locker. 

A small twinge of guilt sits in her gut that she knows will go away eventually, but she can’t quite stamp out right now. That is until they get to class and Brittany leans close to her as they sit together at the same desk. 

“I love you,” is whispered softly against her ear, and it sends a shiver down Quinn’s spine, makes her realize she’d make the same choice a hundred times over if given the chance. Screw the master plan, screw high school social hierarchy and screw everything but caring about how soon she can get home, get away from prying eyes and kiss her  _girlfriend_  - this girl that loves her, this girl that she  _loves_ , and this girl that puts a smile on her face that fails to leave. 

Screw the plan. Quinn’s...Quinn’s  _happy_ , and she thinks that maybe that was the more important plan anyway, a secret treasure she didn’t really know how to find until she did. 

Quinn’s lips press tightly together, the edges hinting upward. “You too,” she says equally as soft, eyes darting around to look for eavesdroppers. 

The toe of Brittany’s shoe presses against the side of Quinn’s for all of math class, and she can barely concentrate on anything else.   


  
  
  



End file.
